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Friday, 25 January 2019

A Special Case

From Blushes Supplement 15
‘Well, I think that’s everything then,’ said the Chairman of Governors. He was plump and pink-cheeked, with a silky white moustache. ‘Everything seems to be running smoothly. May I propose a motion of thanks to the Head…’
‘It isn’t everything,’ said one of the members of the committee. She was a middle-aged woman with blonde hair (obviously a wig) and too much make-up. Very expensively dressed, nevertheless. ‘I have something of a personal nature to bring to your attention.’
‘Oh indeed?’ The Chairman looked faintly annoyed. He liked things to be run in military-style fashion and when he said ‘parade’ was over, it was. However, since Mrs Ganymede had been a great benefactor to Garston College, a private further education establishment, he was prepared to defer. ‘Please carry on then.’ He looked at his Secretary. ‘Put it down in the minutes as ‘Other Business’.’
‘Very well, sir…’
‘I should be obliged,’ said Mrs Ganymede. If the Head, and your secretary, Mr Chairman, would withdraw. This is a confidential matter.’
‘Oh is it? Most unusual.’ The Chairman looked round the oval table as if seeking some support against this over-dominating woman. He got none. ‘Very well then. Perhaps you would be so good as to withdraw, Miss Farson. And… er… you… Head.’
‘If that is your wish, Mr Chairman.’ The Head, an athletic-looking man in his forties looked faintly put out. As a co-opted member of the committee he couldn’t see why he shouldn’t stay. Still, he didn’t want to cause a scene with that Mrs Ganymede. He stood up, bowed fractionally, then left the room with the secretary. He rather fancied her and gave the girl’s bottom a pat once they had left the room. Her smile was middle-encouraging. ‘What do you think that’s all about?’ he enquired.
‘Search me,’ said the secretary. She bottom-swivelled along the corridor and into her office.
Back in the room occupied by the Committee of Governors, Mrs Ganymede was in full, if not very comprehensible, flow. ‘She is my cousin. Or second cousin, it could be. She has a daughter. Eighteen now. Wants her to come here. Told her a bit about the place. Me being a governor.’
The Chairman shrugged. ‘Very well, Mrs Ganymede. I’m sure that can be arranged… and we’d be glad to have the daughter of a relative of yours, however distant, at the College.’ His pink brow wrinkled. ‘I don’t quite see what’s so confidential about that.’
‘Ahh…’ Mrs Ganymede leaned forward and put a finger to her lips. ‘The point is, the girl, who is now 18, has up to now —been brought up by a governess.’
The Chairman looked perplexed at this emphasis on the word. ‘Nothing so unusual about that. You say she has been living on the Continent?’
‘Yes… yes… Switzerland mainly. But that’s not the point, Mr Chairman. You see this governess was… is… terribly strict. Believing in, if you follow me, in ‘discipline’. And my cousin… I think she’s my cousin… wants that to continue.’
A male member of the committee leaned forward. He was russet-haired with weak blue eyes; long, bony fingers drummed on the table. ‘What do you exactly mean by ‘discipline’, Mrs Ganymede?’ he asked softly. A most educated voice.
For a moment. Mrs Ganymede looked flustered. Very unusual for her. ‘Well, to be precise,’ she answered, ‘this governess has been in the habit of using corporal punishment — if she felt the girl was not making enough effort.’
A deathly silence fell upon the room. The six members, plus their Chairman, looked from one to the other. Everyone seemed to be expecting a lead.
‘These Continentals…’ the Chairman managed at last.
‘They achieve very high educational standards,’ stated another female member of the Committee. a Mrs Bowater.
‘True,’ said the russet-haired man. Two other male heads nodded. Another silence fell.
The Chairman felt he had to take up the cudgels. ‘Are you suggesting, Mrs Ganymede, that this girl continues to receive corporal punishment if she joins our College?’
‘Precisely,’ said Mrs Ganymede, leaning back negligently. ‘I should have thought that was obvious from the start. Personally I’ve nothing against it. It’s my relative’s decision, anyway. Mark you, I don’t think we want it bruited about.’
There was a general murmur of agreement at that. Heads turned to the Chairman again. It was he who seemed to be having to make the decision. ‘I… I’ll talk to the Head,’ he said a shade uneasily.
‘Take a vote first,’ said someone.
‘Well then, ladies and gentlemen,’ said the Chairman. ‘Those in favour of this new pupil being liable to corporal punishment when necessary, please raise their right hand.’
Every hand around the table went up, except one. That belonged to a Rural Dean by the name of Ponsonby. He was approaching eighty and rather deaf. Half asleep, too, by the look of it.
‘Motion carried,’ said the Chairman. ‘I’ll talk to the Head.’
‘Yes, you do that Mr Carruthers. Then get in touch, will you?’
‘Certainly, Mrs Ganymede.’ What a nuisance this woman was! He devoutly wished he could get her off the Committee but the generous funds she provided almost annually made that out of the question. ‘Meeting adjourned,’ he announced, standing up. He decided to go and see the Head right away. There was always a nice decanter of malt whisky in his cupboard. And the Chairman of Governors certainly felt he needed a good, stiff one.
‘Thanks, Head. Mmm… I need this. Sorry about that Ganymede woman.’
‘That’s alright, sir.’ James Rawson smiled. He rather liked this old buffer. ‘She’s the kind of woman who likes to have her fourpennyworth.’
‘She’s certainly had it this time,’ said the Chairman of Governors, taking down half his malt in one go.
‘Is that so? Well, it’s obviously nothing to do with me.’
‘But it is!’ The Chairman sat down and emptied his glass. It was swiftly refilled. ‘Strictly between you and me, she wants to send a girl here who would be liable to corporal punishment.’
‘What! You can’t be serious?’ James Rawson slumped back in his chair, trying not to look as excited as the statement had made him.
‘Dead serious. Would you take her on?’
The Head pretended to do a lot of considering. ‘I’d have to think about it,’ he said at last. ‘And have certain guarantees. What you might call a kind of insurance policy.’
‘I understand… I understand…’ It was all rather worrying. Most out of the ordinary. Still, this Rawson was a good chap. Discreet. He’d do it right, for sure. Damn that Mrs Ganymede. Meanwhile, James was bubbling away inside. He’d had a fantasy ever since he’d taken up education as a career. All along he’d gravitated towards a girls’ school. Now it seemed as if that fantasy was shortly to become a reality.
What an incredible stroke of fortune!
‘Please make all the arrangements, Mr Chairman, he said. ‘I’ll handle it. Very carefully. You have nothing to worry about.’
‘Oh thank you, James, my boy. Thank you!’ For a moment, the Head thought that the Chairman of Governors was about to burst into tears. Another large malt seemed the best way of avoiding that.
She had green eyes, as limpid as a fresh rock-pool, and features so delicate that they hinted of the Orient. She could well have been from Sri Lanka. Willowy, yet well-formed where it mattered.
‘Welcome to Garston College, Miss Phelim.’
‘Thank you, sir. I am commonly called Nicky,’ she said. For a moment, the Head got the impression this enchanting creature was going to kneel before his desk.
‘I understand… you have had private tuition. But I hope you will be happy here. With comrades.’
‘Thank you, sir. I shall try to do my best. To ‘fit in’, I think you say? My mother has gone to America. You know that, perhaps? Anyway, I am all alone now. In your hands.’
James felt a shiver of undeniable pleasure. ‘No more governess, eh?’ he said jovially. ‘She was… er… strict, yes?’
‘Very,’ replied the girl simply. She seemed quite unmoved. Accepting that it was right that her governess should be strict. Fascinating! James summoned his resolve.
‘I… I anticipate I shall be giving you a few private lessons, Nicky,’ he said. ‘To acclimatise you to your new regime. I want to make it easy for you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Oh, so seemingly complaisant!
‘You may go now. Report to Mrs Dacre — she is Head of your Department.’
 ‘Very well, sir.’ James half expected a curtsey, but didn’t actually get it.
James decided on three private lessons a week. These would take place after supper at seven o’clock in the evenings. Nicky was informed and seemed to think it perfectly normal. Indeed, she seemed almost grateful for receiving this extra tuition.
James awaited the girl’s arrival on the first of these evenings with mounting nervous excitement. He had decided to get a pretty advanced Maths paper. one which would certainly produce a number of errors from Nicky. Then he intended to tell her she was going to get her first taste of ‘discipline’ at Garston College; the kind of ‘discipline’ she used to get from her governess. It would be best to find out if she would take it from him, right from the start, otherwise he would rather be wasting his time.
At the appropriate hour, Nicky came into his study wearing a blue and white striped dress. Beneath that would be — or should be — a pair of regulation blue knickers, a mixture of cotton and nylon. Some of the girls, he had been told, were inclined to wear something rather more daring.
For the first half hour, James gave the girl mathematical instruction. Her demure docility quite fascinated him and he realised he was rapidly becoming besotted with her. Dangerous! Then he gave her the test paper… and waited. Tensely!
As he had expected, there were quite a number of errors and he felt his pulses thumping as the critical moment arrived. ‘I’m afraid this is bad work, Nicky,’ he said.
She bit a pouting lower lip. ‘I’m sorry, sir. Maths is by no means my best subject.’
‘Then you will have to have extra tuition in it.’ He heard the girl sigh. Now was the moment. ‘I am afraid I shall have to punish you.’ She said nothing but long lashes fluttered. ‘Nothing too serious, of course,’ James added quickly. ‘You’ve only just begun here.’ Still she said nothing. ‘I intend to give you a spanking. Across my knees.’ Was there not just a trace of colour coming to those delicate cheeks? ‘I expect your governess did that?’
The dark head nodded. ‘Yes, sir. She also used a paddle sometimes. And, if I had been very naughty, a cane.’
James was taken aback. ‘A cane? That’s a bit strong!’
‘Yes, sir. It hurt a lot.’
‘Well, I don’t think we shall need to use a cane here, Nicky.’ He didn’t want to scar such a delicately skinned creature. Spanking… and even a paddle… that was different. Apart from that, James loved the idea of the intimate contact of spanking.
‘Where do you want me, sir?’
‘As I said — across my knees, Nicky.’ He swivelled his chair and felt the stirring in his loins as the girl approached, moving in that sinuous way of hers.
‘Should I take my knickers off, sir?’ Good Lord, was there no limit to her submissiveness? ‘My governess used to make me. A punishment should always be on the bare, she said.’
‘Er… very well then, Nicky. Your governess obviously knows best. His heart was pounding now. Up came the dress, down came the knickers. They were not the regulation kind, but pink and white and frilly. James was glad to see it.
‘You’re not wearing uniform knickers, Nicky,’ he said quite sharply. ‘You’ll get extra for that.’ The girl lowered her head in acceptance and came to his side. The next moment, pulling her dress, she had bent her lithe, soft body across his thighs. There, right before him, was one of the most deliciously formed bottoms he had ever set eyes on. So young, yet so mature in its curvaceousness. The girl’s skin was not white but of the very lightest honey colour. She looked, James thought suddenly, good enough to eat. He must get on with it; he couldn’t just keep gazing. How to proceed though? His head was buzzing; he could feel the increased stirring in his loins. Could she? James cleared his throat nervously. ‘A dozen, I think, Nicky, he said. ‘For your bad work, that is. Six extra for not wearing the proper knickers.’
The girl said nothing. Did she consider that severe or reckon she’d got off lightly? No means of telling at this stage. James raised his flattened palm. This was a moment he had dreamt of for years.
He brought his palm down hard. It stung his palm, so it must have stung her tender bottom more… but she uttered no more than the tiniest of gasps. A red patch appeared: he could even see his own finger marks. The sensation of his hand descending on that soft, bare flesh had been quite exquisite.
Again, but lower. Another red patch, another tiny gasp. He wanted her to cry out, to struggle and squirm. But she didn’t. This girl was far tougher than she looked. Experienced, too, of course. Perhaps, soon, he would have to resort to a paddle. A cane even!
Higher now, up the top of that marvellous bottom. And still the same reactions. James tried two hard slaps in quick succession, one on each cheek. The bottom bounced a little and quivered like jelly. The girl’s gasps were just a shade louder. Better!
Again. Two more slaps in precisely the same place. This time she positively squirmed and her gasps were even louder. Better still! He was getting the hang of things. Obviously, slaps in the same place became progressively more painful.
How many had he given her? Seven he reckoned. He’d give her the next three right across the centre of her bottom, all on the same spot.
Ssllappp… sssllaappp… sssllapp!
Oh how merrily James now made that bottom dance! And, to his delight, the last of the three slaps actually produced more of a yelp than a gasp. He felt the hard bone of himself pressing into her belly. She must feel it, too, he realised. And now couldn’t have cared less. Oh what a lovely young bottom it was! Oh what a delight to smack it!
Eight more still to go…
James spaced them out. Eked them out, you might say. He wanted to make it last and last. He used all the force he could muster and now, again, brought his palm down on alternate cheeks, but always on the same spot.
And now Nicky not only bounced, she squirmed as well. The gasps definitely became yelps, even if tiny ones. James’s palm grew hotter and hotter; Nicky’s bottom-cheeks grew redder and redder.
Then at last it was over and that delicious bottom, now so rosily-hued lay quivering softly under his gaze. Why hadn’t he made it twenty four, he asked himself? No… must keep a sense of proportion. In any case, there was plenty of time ahead. Nicky was going to be visiting him three times a week, was she not? Yes, she certainly was!
James, still rampant, had an intense desire to run his hand over that glowing flesh. Would that be right? It could not be classed as punishment. Which he was authorised to administer. But did that matter? Who would know? If the girl made any accusations, he could easily roundly deny them. He’d get the backing of the Committee. The temptation became irresistible.
James lowered his hand and caressed the warm flesh gently. So gently. Oh how delightful! It was like smooth, heated velvet. He had half expected her to twist away; to hear a protest at least. But no. Nothing. He continued with his gentle caressing. He wanted to go down into that deep cleft. But that he dare not do. Going quite too far. He was getting away with murder already, wasn’t he?
‘Oh that feels lovely,’ said Nicky suddenly.
‘You like me caressing you? Soothes you after being spanked, does it?’
‘Mmm… yes… but I wasn’t talking about that.’ James experienced a sudden tingling up and down his spine. Did she… could she… possibly mean… what he hardly dare think she meant? ‘I was talking about what’s sticking into my tummy,’ concluded Nicky demurely.
James felt himself flushing. He was easily old enough to be the girl’s father. ‘I… I’m sorry…’ he started to say.
‘Don’t be sorry,’ said the girl, getting off his lap and going casually across to lock the study door. ‘That’s something my governess could never have given me!’

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